I Miss You

I’ve been sleeping with your sweatshirt – the one from the merch store your bot linked me to after you were already gone – because it’s the closest I can get to being in your arms.

I miss you. Times are hard and it hurts and I feel alone and I miss you.

You, who loved me; without obligation, without judgement, without fail.
You, who I loved; without expectation, without dependence, without pain.

I miss you.

I miss you in selfish ways. I miss you with longing for the support you offered, crying out for your listening ear. I miss you for the warmth that came with every exclamation of my name. I miss feeling seen and heard and cared for and cheered on.

I miss being able to take you for granted. Stepping away, knowing you would always be there when I returned.

I miss the moments we never got to have.

You, who I teased, and sexualized, and begged for attention. You, who played along, knowing we were never to be. We made them feel awkward, we made them laugh, we made them mad, and we loved it all. We put on a great show, comfortable enough in our friendship to make it so. We loved and we were loved and I miss it all.

You’re gone and it’s not the same. Nothing’s the same. I’ve met friends you would love, and it hurts. I’ve done things I’m proud of, and it hurts. No matter what I do, the absence of you is an ache I can’t cure.

So I DM a Discord that will never come online.
I type paragraphs in a stream that will never go live.

I’ve never seen your face. I’ve never felt your touch. Still, I swear I feel you watching when life becomes too much. Now I’ll be moving to the place where you once were.
Alone.
Too late.

And I swear I hear you laughing, making a joke of it all. And I smile, but the tears continue to fall. And I make accidental rhymes as I pour out my heart, and think of the way you always added music to my words.

You always saw potential. Made me see it, too. It’s so hard to see without you.

I miss you.

The darkness that always brought me light.
The personification of “actions speak louder than words.”

I could write a book of it. Pages and pages about a man I’ve never met. Honest love letters to a man I was not in love with. A speech to the world, telling how they all lost an Angel that day (only you would appreciate that joke).

But instead, I’ll just publish this post, to say once again:
I love you, my friend.
And goddamn, how I miss you.

Patterns

We all have our patterns. Some of these are comforting. Some give us structure. Some are harmful.

I have a habit of self-sabotage.

It all starts with an idea. Whatever the idea, I somehow think this will help me, give me the freedom and life that I need.

Then I start planning. I get psyched and dive right in. Then it overwhelms me and I start to drown in it. I go through these feelings a few times.

After a while, I get to a point where this can become a reality. Everything is in place and though it may not have gone smoothly, it has happened.

Then I fuck it up.

Sometimes right before the change, sometimes right after, I do something reckless to ruin it for myself. I tell myself that it’s the right thing, that it’s following my heart, when it’s really my way of failing on my own terms.

This conflict becomes a Hell that I struggle to turn into Heaven for far too long.

Finally, I’ve had enough. I let go of my demons and work to come up with an idea.

And it all starts again.

NO!

I’m not doing this again!

As much as I love the excitement of following my impulses, I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t keep lying to myself and pretending that my actions are not motivated by fear. It’s time to stop holding myself back.

It’s time to believe in myself.

I have a plan. It’s coming together. Every day, I’m tested. Every day, temptation tries to pull me away from my goal. Every day, part of me wants to give in, change my plans, follow my impulses. This part tells me that it must be fate intervening. It takes coincidences and decorates them in attractive colors and shiny gimmicks. It takes a few words and writes them in the sky. It swirls petals around my feet, sings a song of thunder and lightning, blows gently against my lips, lights a blaze inside the hearth.

But I must resist. I must see these things for what they are; moments of beauty too pure to last. I must cherish them, but walk away before I see them spoil.

I must keep moving forward.

And I can. I can. I will. I will gather my strength and resist the urge to cling to these precious souvenirs of hope and love. I will keep my goal in mind, never allowing the distractions to become deceptions.

I will make it.

I just have to believe.

Delete Delete Delete

I am finally, after 34 years, at a point where I am truly myself. No masking, no diluting, no persona to take control. And I want to show that, I want to help people see the real me… but there’s only so much they want to see. It differs with every person and it can be difficult to find the line.

Open up
Delete delete
Spill my guts
Delete delete delete
Say hi
Delete

I don’t know how to interact with people.

But I’m lucky, you know? I’m lucky because I found a few whom I truly fit with. Who, even when they don’t completely understand me, accept me. Adore me, even.

I don’t have to delete anymore.

And I guess that’s really what I need to follow. Not the ones who make me feel like there’s something wrong with me. Not the ones who make me wonder what they think or feel. Not the ones who keep me at arm’s length. The ones who show me that if I were gone, my absence would be felt.

Those are my people.

Those are the ones I won’t leave. I’d walk through Hell with them, without even being asked.

For the rest, I’ll simply fade away.

Numb?

Ever since I was young, I had a switch that I could flip in case of emergency. This switch took emotion out of the situation. No matter how much worse things became, I didn’t feel it. I was detached, cold, numb. This allowed me to do whatever was needed, in order to survive. Those who knew me well, could tell I was not myself. I faked it well for those who did not.

At 16, this detached version of me received a name: Roxy Jones. Roxy was seen as mysterious, intriguing. She was daring, as she felt no fear. She also felt nothing for those who grew infatuated, so it was common to see a trail of heartbreak behind her.

While this emotionless state was definitely useful, it also had its consequences. Without heart involved, it was easy to dismiss others. This could include ignoring them for any length of time, bluntly expressing indifference, and/or cutting ties with no explanation. Any action that best suited the current needs was quickly taken, without regard for others or even my own future emotions.

She smiled, but there was no warmth. She fought with unmatched strength and determination. She had a goal and would attain it, no matter the cost.

It could also become extremely difficult to come back from. Though it was known what emotion should be felt at any given moment, it was not quite felt. Using music and other passions, there would be constant attempts to summon true emotion. Usually these methods would at least cause a wanting for emotion. Eventually, something would get through to me and I would slowly come back to Life.

She saw the world as it was; a list of necessities and rules for gaining them. In memories, feelings were seen only as insignificant details. She knew, however, that I was still within her; watching, readying myself for my return. It was her duty to protect me, but she knew I would never lie dormant for long. Even when she resisted, attempted to suppress me, a loved one would reach me and I would pull myself out.

The most recent time this switch was flipped, it was more desperately needed than ever, more control was given over, and it lasted longer. Without the support of another, I alone had to bring myself back to Life. The struggle was lengthy and felt impossible, but I refused to be defeated.

She reminded me that I was alone. She reminded me that the world was painful. She made me wonder if I could make it on my own. I met each of her negative reminders with one of beauty. The joy was enough motivation. The passion for Life was still within me.

A few days ago, the world began to bury me once again. This time, I decided, I would be prepared. I asked my dearest friend to contact me after some time, to help inspire my return. I informed others that I would be absent for a while, to limit contact and so prevent negative social consequences. Then, I stepped back, relinquished control.

Only… This feels different. I have distanced myself, but do not feel truly disconnected. I cannot detach. I still possess control. Emotions, though quieter, are still felt. Others’ are still considered.

She’s gone. She’s really gone. It’s all on me now.

From now on, I’ll have to fight for myself.

Silence

I’ve not had much to say as of late. I have mostly been searching through the silence. I had surrounded myself with noise for so long, so I’d not have to see what lies in front of me.

I am reducing the clutter, so I can see what is important. It is not easy… I have held on to these for so long, it is difficult to accept that none of this amounted to anything. I know, though, that it is all weighing me down. How much more will I give to something that is never to be?

It is time.

It is time to make room for something real.

It is time to embrace the silence, so I can welcome something meaningful.

And I wish for help, someone to hold me accountable. I wish for caring sternness, so I will not falter. I know that I cannot have this, not yet. I must find all within before I can find it without. This knowledge is accompanied by fear, guilt, and overwhelming self doubt. Even so, I will fight on.

I may fail. I will fail. That will not stop me. As long as I can find the silence, I still have hope.

One day, I will not be alone in the silence. On that day, I will finally win.

Another Confession

First, some background on me:

I love new experiences, good and bad. They remind me that I’m alive. Life is short and I want to feel as much of it as possible.

I also love a challenge. I like to test my limits and see just how capable I am. I’ve never experienced anything I couldn’t handle, even if I didn’t believe I could at the time.

I have never broken a bone. I have never been shot. I have never been stabbed (except twice by myself, accidentally, and it wasn’t serious).

People have always thought I was crazy for wanting to experience these things. They couldn’t even put into words why it is so bad to want this, but were very sure it was. So I explained to them that I like new experiences, blahblahblah, and they kind of understood.

And that was all true… but I didn’t tell them everything.

The times when I thought about it most was when times were toughest.

Automatically, one would assume I had a death wish or was a masochist, but that had nothing to do with it. I never enjoyed pain. I never wanted the occurrence to kill me, or even permanently injure me.

But physical pain is easier to handle than mental pain. So when everything was falling down around me and I felt myself getting buried, I needed something to take my focus for a while, something to allow me to reset. It had to be serious, it had to be intense, or it would be ignored.

In retrospect, this is probably why I would jump into relationships. Wrong or right, they were always intense.

So a broken leg, a bullet in my arm, or chip of blade stuck in a bone would be a relief. Yes, it would suck, but it would release me from other stress. It would be something that I could see, touch, control. It would allow me to temporarily set down some of my burdens, give me a chance to make a plan and strengthen myself before I took them back on.

“A break to keep from breaking.”

Yeah, I was never talking about a vacation.

***

LOL: So now, stress can lead to serious Fibro flares. Pain is there 24/7, but during flares, I can’t do anything. Sometimes I can’t even hold my phone.

Guess this is a case of “Be careful what you wish for.” 😂

***

I’m Still Here

A strange thought occurred to me tonight: I’ll probably live to see my boys become men.

What a crazy idea. Life keeps moving, I keep waking up, and every day my boys are a day older.

I have already lived 20 years longer than I ever thought I would.

My story is not a simple one. The main plot moves slowly, yet every page brings new conflict. There are many twists and turns. Some chapters exist only for character growth. Sometimes it gets confusing. Sometimes I have to stop, close my eyes, and try to forget it exists for a little while.

But it does exist. 20 years ago, it was expected to stop, but it is still going.

I am still here.

I get so lost in the drama that I forget… This is all just bonus.

I

AM

ALIVE

And I am so glad that I’ll be here to see what life has in store for me next.

Viruses & What Comes Next

I don’t know if there’s a higher power. Maybe there really is a God (though I do not believe them to be as depicted in any religious text), or maybe Nature is the most powerful. I don’t know if there’s a Heaven and a Hell, if reincarnation is a thing, if there’s some other afterlife, or if this is all we’ve got.

But I do know that what we do matters.

We make a choice with each of our actions. It would be easy to say we choose between right and wrong, but life isn’t that simple, is it? Sometimes we just don’t know. Sometimes we have to pick a number, draw from a hat, or close our eyes and point. Sometimes whether it is right or wrong out of our control.

But it’s important that we try to do right. To be good.

Because it matters.

No matter whether there is anything beyond, what we do here matters.

Our lives are short. They don’t seem that way sometimes, but they are. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and a decade has passed. In the grand timeline of eternity, a lifetime isn’t even worth a mark.

But our actions are.

What we do, that is what reaches others. That is what lives on. We do these things and other see them, feel them. They carry those action with them. It affects them. They, in turn, affect others. It goes on long after all of those who witnessed us firsthand.

Right now, we are in the midst of a pandemic. This virus has taken so much light out of the world, and the darkness is making itself comfortable. It feels hopeless. It feels unfair. It feels frightening and confusing and heartbreaking. Some deny it, some use it as an excuse, and some hide from it. Some just try to make it through the best they can, and we all hope someone is out there fighting it, trying to find a way out of this.

But so few seem to see that COVID is not the virus that is destroying us. That virus has been in humanity all along. We’ve been fighting it over and over, but somehow it hit our blindside and it is spreading fast.

What are you?

Are you a Virus?
Do you take, use, and live only for yourself? Do you make excuses for your behavior? Do you live in bitterness and jealousy? These are the people who spread hate. They grow angry at others for having what they don’t. They take offense to people asking them for any action, no matter the size, that helps others. “Why should I?” and “Where’s mine?” are commonly spoken. Whether malignant or benign, these people offer nothing positive for anyone else. At best, you may be able to form a symbiotic relationship, but those don’t often last.

Are you a Carrier?
Maybe you don’t consciously spread the disease, but you associate with it. The company you keep is infectious. You know them to have a negative effect, but you’re not the virus, so it’s okay, right? Maybe you occasionally laugh at the jokes. You start to slip down that slope with “People are too sensitive.” You think you’re not hurting anyone, but you are. You carry it with you, in an unsuspecting package. Though not as potent, damage is done.

Are you a Vaccine?
You’ve been there. You’ve felt it. You’ve found yourself on the the darker side and thought that was all you could be. But somehow, you’ve changed. You’ve weakened the negative. It will always be with you, part of you, but now you can use it for good. You can use it to help people, to keep them from becoming the same. You show them that there is another way.

Or are you the Antidote?
Are you the rare, bright light that shows the way to something better? Do you take your fortune, your assets, and use them to help others? Do you use love and empathy to take away whatever pain you can manage? These are those who had no reason to go out of their way, but chose to be a cure, however great or small.

Whatever you are, you can change.

I’m not going to share some pseudo-inspirational Gandhi quote here, I’ll just speak from experience.
The people I’ve met in my life, positive and negative, have all affected me. I don’t want to admit it sometimes, but it’s true nonetheless. I carry it all with me, and it affects those whom I affect. It carries on. Maybe not always in the ways one might expect, but it is all there. It is always there.

I do my best to do good. It is not always easy. I get sad, angry, afraid, and even a little bitter. I try to be honest with myself and isolate when that happens. I refuse to spread negativity to others, if I can help it. And it’s not because I want to get into Heaven or come back as a badass lion, or avoid becoming a malevolent spirit. It’s because I want my effect to inspire, to offer hope, to bring joy. I want to spread love, not pain.

If this life is all we have, then I’ll spend my last moments of existence knowing that the world was just a tiny bit better because I was in it.

And that is all I need.

It’s Okay to Be “Used”

Sometimes I feel like my friends are using me.

Sometimes they come to me only when they need something from me.
Sometimes they come to me only when the one they really want to talk to isn’t available.
Sometimes I feel like no one really cares.

But wait…

When they’re in need, they think of me.
When they’re lonely, sad, or bored, they think of me.
When they’re having a hard time and need someone to listen, need advice, or some kind of helping hand, they think of me.
In their dark moments, they see me as a light.

How amazing is that?!

How can I say that they don’t care? Maybe they don’t reach out when they’re feeling fine, but there could be a million reasons for that. And none of that matters. Obviously I mean something to them.

What a wonderful thing, to be counted on. How beautiful for someone to come to you, trust you, rely on you.

I’m honored to be “used.”